A welcome disturbance in the Force, Rian Johnson's "The Last Jedi" is, by wide measure, the trippiest, scrappiest and most rule-breaking "Star Wars" adventure yet.

Not the exercise in nostalgia that was J.J. Abrams' "The Force Awakens," Johnson's Episode VIII takes George Lucas' space opera in new, often thrilling, and sometimes erratic directions while finding the truest expression yet of the saga's underlying ethos of camaraderie in resistance to oppression. Though there are countless familiar broad strokes — rebel escapes, Jedi soul-searching, daddy issues — "The Last Jedi" has discovered some new moves yet, in the galaxy far, far away.

As the second installment in this third "Star Wars" trilogy, "The Last Jedi" is like the inverted corollary of "The Empire Strike Back" (long the super fan's favorite). While it is, like its part-two predecessor, often murky and weird, Johnson's frequently comic film distinguishes itself by upending the traditional power dynamics of heroes and bit players in the Star Wars galaxy.

Here, the odds-defying daredevil flyboy (Oscar Isaac as Resistance pilot Poe Dameron) is an impetuous chauvinist, at odds with a female commander (a purple-haired Laura Dern). "Get your head out of your cockpit," admonishes Leia (the late Carrie Fisher, to whom the film is dedicated). The master-apprentice relationship — previously Yoda instructing young Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) on a swampy remote planet — is now tilted more toward Rey, the young Jedi (Daisy Ridley), sent to stir a monkish Skywalker from a windswept, Porg-infested isle. And instead of a Tauntaun's guts being spilled, there are even moments of animal rights reflections creeping into the galaxy. About to bite into his rotisserie dinner, Chewbacca, with a sad groan, is struck by pangs of doubt.

Abrams's finest touch in his zippy and nimble reboot was in his diverse casting — in particular Ridley and John Boyega, as Finn, the Stormtrooper turned good guy. But Johnson, who also wrote the film, has gone further to shake up the familiar roles and rhythms of Star Wars. Scattershot and loose-limbed, "The Last Jedi" doesn't worship at its own altar, often undercutting its own grandiosity.

Those breaks of form — formerly mostly reserved for a smirking Harrison Ford — will throw some diehards. Especially in the surreal isolated scenes of Rey and Luke — where Luke, with a thick gray mane and a hermit's foul-manner is seen drinking a creature's breast milk and pole-vaulting from rock to rock — "The Last Jedi" teeters on the edge of camp.

It's not surprising that Johnson, the director of the twisty time-traveling noir "Looper," has made a movie full of clever inversions. What's jarring is that he's made a "Star Wars" film that tries to not take itself too seriously, while simultaneously making it more emotional.

Yet before its considerable payoff, "The Last Jedi" feels lost and grasping for its purpose. Unlike the earlier films, the less tactile "The Last Jedi" isn't much for world building, and its sense of place isn't as firm. As an intergalactic travelogue, it's a disappointment.

There are exceptions, though, especially the chambers of the Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis, adding to his gallery of grotesques). Soaked in an otherworldly crimson red, Snoke's lair looks like something out of Kubrick's "Eyes Wide Shut."

Johnson also lacks what Lucas and Abrams alike recognized as the franchise's most potent weapon: Ford. As the prairie boy turned knight, Hamill has never been the saga's heart-and-soul. While Luke gets his big moment, "The Last Jedi" doesn't do him any favors, plopping him on a pitiless jagged rock away from the action and a backstory filled with regret.

As Fisher's final "Star Wars" film, it's a shame she isn't more front-and-center. (The next film was to be hers, the way Ford and now Hamill have had theirs.) But she makes her scenes count.

Though Isaac has been fashioned as the heir-apparent to the bemused Ford, Boyega is the actor I've left both episode VII and VIII wanting more of. The downside in a story that spins its characters around the galaxy is that the new generation of Star Wars protagonists hasn't had time for the small gestures that would shape their characters — close-ups that their forerunners were afforded. Even after two films, Rey is more of an unstoppable sprite than a fleshed-out person.

But "The Last Jedi," as if with a wind against its back, gathers momentum. By breaking down some of the old mythology, Johnson has staked out new territory. For the first time in a long time, a "Star Wars" film feels forward-moving.

Much of that sense of progress comes in the character of Rose Tico (a superlative Kelly Marie Tran), a maintenance worker who's thrust into a pivotal role in the rebellion. It's she who voices the film's abiding message, one that — as the first "Star Wars" film of the Trump era — has affecting resonance. The Resistance will win, she says, "not fighting what we hate" but "saving what we love."

In a pop culture juggernaut as imposing as Star Wars, these moments carry more meaning than they would elsewhere. After long skating around anything political, "The Last Jedi" — whether it's meant to be or not — has the tenor of a rallying cry. Johnson has fully internalized a single line of dialogue from "The Return of the Jedi" — "You rebel scum," said with disdain by a Nazi-like lieutenant — and turned it into a badge of pride.

"Star Wars: The Last Jedi," a Walt Disney Co. release, is rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America for "sequences of sci-fi action and violence." Running time: 152 minutes. Three stars out of four.

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MPAA Definition of PG-13: Parents strongly cautioned. Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13.

The beloved children’s book “The Story of Ferdinand” by Munro Leaf, with illustrations by Robert Lawson, was published in 1936. But the simple, pacifist story about a bull who would rather smell flowers than fight has resonated across generations. It’s a natural progression that this favorite character would find a home on the big screen in an animated feature, “Ferdinand,” but perhaps the filmmakers behind the raucous “Ice Age” movies aren’t exactly the right team to adapt this elegant story to the screen.

The peaceful spirit of Ferdinand the bull is celebrated in the film, directed by Carlos Saldanha, but the rather sparse story has been filled out with the typical animated feature fare of manic action, a coterie of wise-cracking animals, body humor, dead parents, car chases, dance-offs and pop music. Elegant and simple, this film is not.

To flesh out the story of Ferdinand to feature length, the team of writers has given the protagonist a dramatic upbringing. The young and gentle bull flees his ranch after his father is chosen for a bullfight and never returns. He ends up at the home of a flower farmer and is taken in by his daughter, Nina (Lily Day), where girl and beast grow up together in a perfect harmony.

But Ferdinand (John Cena) becomes too large and unruly for his own good, and after wreaking havoc on a flower festival, he’s shipped back to the ranch, where he’s reunited with his childhood friends. They headbutt and tussle to be chosen by the matador El Primero (Miguel Ángel Silvestre), but Ferdinand is the odds-on favorite due to his hulking size and clumsiness that masquerades as ferociousness. When the bulls realize they’re being sent to “the chop shop” if they can’t perform, it inspires an all-out revolt, as they hatch an escape plan with the help of three resourceful hedgehogs and a sassy goat (Kate McKinnon).

Despite the mania, and the influx of characters wackier than the next (a trio of snobby German Lipizzaner horses are truly random), “Ferdinand” contains some resonant messages about prioritizing gentleness and love over competition and violence, and about not judging a book by its cover. Much of Ferdinand’s struggle comes from his desire to break free from the system of violent masculinity where the only way out is to fight. He’s deemed violent and scary due to the way he looks, and he pushes back on that stereotype, most notably when he plops down in the bullfighting ring, wanting only to stop and smell the roses.

“Ferdinand” does attempt to express something authentic about Spanish culture, which reveres bulls, and their tenuous relationships with humans — from the bullfights to the running of the bulls. There are a couple of genuinely funny gags that only adults will get (a funny “bull in a china shop” sequence). With a lovely voice performance from Cena, the spirit of Ferdinand does shine through. But the rest of the story filler is mostly forgettable.

Can a person honor his family and pursue his dreams? That is the question at the heart of “Coco,” a whimsical and high-spirited romp through the underworld from Pixar Animation Studios. The story’s 12-year-old protagonist, Miguel Rivera, is an aspiring guitarist with a song in his heart and stardom on his mind. But to realize his destiny he must defy the wishes of his close-knit Mexican family, which, for reasons stemming from a long-ago ancestral scandal, has forbidden him from enjoying or pursuing music.

No such ban will be placed on the audience for “Coco,” which bounces along to the beat of a Michael Giacchino score, several traditional Mexican songs and a few original tunes that never run the risk of burrowing into your mind. (The most significant one, ironically, is titled “Remember Me.”) But while the movie revels in its music and duly rebukes the Riveras for trying to stifle young Miguel’s destiny, it also comes down firmly on the side of family, taking pains to acknowledge the importance of staying true to one’s roots.

It does this, in part, by upholding its own formidable creative and corporate lineage. Directed by Lee Unkrich with some of the warmth and imagination he brought to “Toy Story 3” (and co-directed by Adrian Molina, who wrote the script with Matthew Aldrich), “Coco” is the first of Pixar’s 19 features to feature a nonwhite human protagonist, diversifying a company slate that has already proved a model of inclusivity with regard to talking fish, sentient toys and anthropomorphic cars.

But beyond the novelty of having animated characters eat tamales and drop the occasional word of Spanish, the movie betrays an instinctive kinship with the Disney brand that is by turns pleasing and thoroughly unsurprising. It is an alternately smooth and strenuous Pixarian weave of bright colors, spirited chatter and inventive action, prepared and tested in accordance with the highest factory standards.

After an inspired prologue designed entirely in the intricate papel picado style of tissue-paper art, the story begins on Dia de los Muertos, the holiday when Mexican families display their late ancestors’ photographs alongside food offerings on a commemorative altar. But while young Miguel (voiced by Anthony Gonzalez) loves his family — especially his adorably wizened great-grandmother, Mama Coco (Ana Ofelia Murguia) — he is less excited by the upcoming festivities than by the prospect of performing in a local talent show.

That doesn’t sit well with the music-loathing Riveras, especially Miguel’s domineering grandmother (Renee Victor), an overly broad caricature who does her part to set the plot in motion by smashing the boy’s guitar like a pinata. In a more satisfying version of “Coco,” the Riveras’ fiesta might have quickly gone the way of Carrie’s prom. But Miguel, a good boy at heart, simply finds a new guitar in the nearby tomb of his idol, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt), a legendary musician and movie star in the Pedro Infante mold.

Robbing a crypt on this day of all days, alas, is a serious no-no, and with one strum of Ernesto’s guitar, Miguel finds himself transported to the Land of the Dead, where the deceased — walking, talking skeletons with a sheen of orange ectoplasm — are preparing to visit their families on the other side. And so “Coco” begins its extended journey across a gorgeous pink-and-purple-daubed vision of Hades, with Miguel basically playing Orpheus in a red hoodie. (He even has a canine sidekick named Dante.)

If that sounds pretty dark for a movie with a PG rating (awarded for that horror of horrors, “thematic elements”), the script’s ghoulish touches and mordant flashes of wit turn out to be its most disarming qualities. Kids may squirm in delight when Miguel realizes he’s turning into a skeleton, one phalange at a time, and will soon be dead himself unless he finds his way back to the land of the living by morning. To do this, he must secure a blessing from his ancestors — a tricky proposition, as none of them is willing to let him return home unless he agrees to their music moratorium.

In perhaps the story’s most poignant conceit, death turns out to be simply another circle of life where the deceased can remain and thrive so long as they are remembered by a living, breathing loved one. That raises the stakes a bit when Miguel meets a street-smart skeleton named Hector (Gael Garcia Bernal) who is desperate to ensure that his mortal legacy is not erased. Their partnership complicates a busy plot already thick with chases, coincidences, ancient secrets, mistaken identities and Frida Kahlo sightings, and it plows through each twist like a roller coaster navigating a new loop.

Which is only fitting, since the movie’s underworld suggests nothing so much as a giant theme park, complete with turnstiles, bustling streets and gaudy attractions (none more brilliant than the “alebrijes,” fantastical winged animals come to life). There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. The best theme parks, Disney’s included, are worth getting lost in. But try as you might to lose yourself in “Coco,” or at least pause long enough to ponder its metaphysics, too often you might find yourself hindered by the movie’s breathless velocity.

And also by the increasing monotony of its character design. The visuals have the telltale Pixar richness; you sense a hundred different creative choices went into the animation of a simple confetti shower. But like earlier movies, including “Corpse Bride” and the similarly Dia de los Muertos-themed “The Book of Life,” “Coco” offers a reminder that skeletons, for all their googly eyes and gorgeous bone structure, are not the most emotionally expressive creatures. With the exception of his great-great-grandmother Mama Imelda (a spirited Alanna Ubach), Miguel’s dead relatives are a pretty indistinguishable and — sorry — lifeless bunch.

The action beats arrive right on cue, followed in due course by a show-stopping musical climax and an ending all but guaranteed to tickle your tear ducts. The question proposed at the outset — can a person honor his family and pursue his dreams? — is answered with the kind of skill and ingenuity that leaves you strongly suspecting it was bogus to begin with.

None of which makes “Coco” a bad movie, only one whose flights of imaginative frenzy are too constrained by formula, in the end, for it to count as a great one. In the best Pixar movies, “Wall-E,” “Inside Out” and “Toy Story 3” among them, you get the sense of filmmakers boldly and brilliantly conquering new terrain. “Coco,” by contrast, feels governed by more timid, responsible spirits. Its goal is to reassure, to provoke no offense and to give an underserved culture the sentimental, uplifting Hollywood cash cow it deserves. Progress could certainly look worse.

“The Disaster Artist,” based on the true story of an actor-director wannabe, proves to be a surprise entry in the race for year-end awards recognition.

It’s a comedic tour de force for James Franco, who plays the mysteriously eccentric but earnest Tommy Wiseau. However, it’s also an impressive effort for Franco the director, who until now has mostly dabbled in film shorts and documentaries.

He stars along with his brother Dave Franco, who plays Wiseau’s best friend Greg Sestero, as two actors just trying to make their way.

They meet in a San Francisco acting class where Tommy gives a rather unusual take on a pivotal scene in “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Greg is blown away by Tommy’s “fearlessness” in the class and the scene, and they forge a friendship that leads them to move to Los Angeles where Tommy has an apartment.

Attempting to tackle the movie business proves to be a chore. Eventually, they decide to go all Mickey Rooney and make their own movie.

Directing from a script by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, who collaborated on “The Fault in Our Stars,” the filmmakers document all of the hilarious eccentricities that Wiseau brings to his directorial debut as well as Sestero’s reaction to some of what he’s doing.

Many of those moments are not only dismaying, but also hilarious.

Through his lens, Franco reveals a film with layers worth peeling away.

The first explores the ups and downs of friendships and how Wiseau and Sestero deal with them.

In some instances, it’s not an outcome many would consider acceptable. They certainly make for humorous fodder — mostly.

The beauty of “The Disaster Artist,” however, comes from watching the Franco brothers play off one another. Perhaps the fact they’re siblings contribute to the easiness they display in some genuinely tension-filled moments.

As for their individual performances, James transforms himself into this ditzy character with passion and intelligence who is absolutely difficult to hate.

Dave is more the straight man, but his reactions to the proceedings probably mirror the ones any member of the audience would have.

The key to “The Disaster Artist” and Franco’s success: He finds the heart and soul of the film. It’s not difficult to predict what those things are, ultimately, but there will be no spoilers here. Go see it.

It’s been a long, hard road to “Justice League.” Director Zack Snyder, who helmed the latest iterations of Batman and Superman in “Man of Steel” and “Batman vs. Superman,” stepped away for personal reasons during post-production. “The Avengers” director Joss Whedon came in to finish the film, including reshoots, which were famously foiled by Superman Henry Cavill’s “Mission: Impossible” mandated mustache. But after all of that, finally, DC’s superheroes are assembled on screen at last. It’s just a shame that the resulting film is a chaotic, baffling mess.

So what’s it going to take to get Batman (Ben Affleck), Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), Aquaman (Jason Momoa), The Flash (Ezra Miller), Cyborg (Ray Fisher) and the zombie corpse of Superman together at last?

The end of the world, of course. The story is an old beloved superhero chestnut: a space monster needs a thingamajig in order to end/conquer the world. If he gets all three thingamajigs, it’ll be bad. Which is why it’s so frustrating when the Justice League just leaves the very last one just sitting on top of a Gotham police cruiser while they try and calm down the Franken-Superman they’ve reanimated. Obviously, the space monster gets it.

Batman (superpower: rich) is the ostensible leader of this team, recruiting his pal Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman, as well as newer friends Arthur Curry, aka Aquaman — a long-haired ocean bro who swills whiskey and swims about in his aqua jeans, Barry Allen, aka The Flash — a neurotic, chatty, socially awkward and very fast teen — and Victor Stone, aka Cyborg — a brooding former football star brought back from the dead by his scientist father who turns him into man-machine.

Snyder brought a level of darkness and nihilism to this franchise, so it’s very, very strange that “Justice League” is as quippy as it is. No doubt this is due to the presence of Whedon, who takes a screenwriting credit, but it just does not fit with Snyder’s dour takes on the characters. Not to mention the dialogue is painful. Miller’s neurotic routine is initially quite charming, until his one-liners become incredibly cheesy and tired. Aquaman peppers his speech with many dude-brah phrases, while Cyborg, regrettably, utters “boo-yah” at one point.

But it’s not the quips that truly offend, but the blur of horrible CGI that starts from minute one and never lets up — including Cavill’s bewildering upper lip. The action is insane and impossible to follow, geographically. After a while you just give up trying to understand anything as the Justice League batters away at the alien warriors.

Gadot as Wonder Woman is a bright spot, a reminder of her wondrous stand-alone film from this summer. But the snippets of scenes with the Amazons won’t satisfy anyone looking for more Amazonian fun, and the way the camera lasciviously lingers on low-angle shots of Gadot’s body is a clear indication of the difference between the male and female gaze on film.

With “Batman vs. Superman,” it seemed, sadly, the death of “goofy Batman” — the Batman of the ’90s, with cheesy puns and silly costumes. But the breathtakingly bad “Justice League,” with its corny banter and terrible effects just might signify a return to that goofy Batman form. This just happens to be a very rough bump in the road on the way.

“Wonder” is the story of Auggie (Jacob Tremblay), a young boy with a genetic facial deformity attending school for the first time, bravely marching into middle school while daring to be born different. You cringe along with his parents as he disappears into a sea of fifth graders as they say a quiet prayer: “Dear God, please let them be nice to him.”

His parents, Nate (Owen Wilson) and Isabel (Julia Roberts), who have sheltered Auggie, know they have to let him wade into those treacherous middle school waters. It might be rough, scared, hard and hurtful, but without the risk, there would be no reward.

If this were just the tale of Auggie’s trials in the fifth grade as a new kid who’s visibly different, the film would be a heartwarming, possibly syrupy-sweet trifle of a tale. But what you come to discover about “Wonder” is it’s much more than just a story of one person overcoming adversity or physical setbacks. Adapted from R.J. Palacio’s book, co-written and directed by Stephen Chbosky, “Wonder” is a story that’s enormously generous of perspective.

This isn’t just Auggie’s story and Auggie’s experience, it’s the story of so many people around him: his sister Via (Izabela Vidovic), his friend Jack Will (Noah Jupe), even his sister’s estranged best friend Miranda (Danielle Rose Russell). Frequently, we cut away from Auggie’s narration and are shown the experiences of those around him, titled with chapter headings, with their own voices explaining their interpretations of events. It does get a bit messy at times, jumping into and out of perspectives, and the stories are spread a bit thin, rather than delving deeply.

However, sharing the point of view is a smart way to illustrate the ways in which friendships are complicated by our own projections, assumptions, miscommunications and slights. While Auggie certainly has a more outwardly obvious struggle, everyone around him is struggling in their own way. And Auggie isn’t perfect, either. He’s a young boy dealing with an immensely difficult situation, but the world doesn’t always revolve around him, and he needs to be gently reminded of that sometimes.

The film also smartly undercuts its own sentimentality, never dwelling too long in the pathos or poignancy, cutting the tension with a typically 10-year-old burp or fart joke. It’s likely you will cry, but you won’t feel manipulated into doing so — those tears are rightfully earned.

The glue that holds the film together is the wonderfully warm Roberts, who even unleashes her signature laugh for a moment. She does most of the emotive heavy lifting, but, Vidovic, as Auggie’s sister Via, is a wonder herself, expressing wordlessly the burden of a sibling who doesn’t need as much attention as her brother, but hopes for some anyway. Jupe is a young star on the rise, and he’s extremely sensitive as the friend who learns that standing up for others means standing up for himself.

The messages of “Wonder,” woven throughout by the actions of the characters, and as “precepts” outlined by teacher Mr. Browne (Daveed Diggs) are ones we should all take to heart: to choose kindness, and to define ourselves through our deeds. These ideas are earnest, yes, and heartfelt. We could all stand to grant a little kindness to ourselves and others right about now.

Ratings by the Motion Picture Association of America are: (G) for general audiences; (PG) parental guidance urged because of material possibly unsuitable for children; (PG-13) parents are strongly cautioned to give guidance for attendance of children younger than 13; (R) restricted, younger than 17 admitted only with parent or adult guardian; (NC-17) no one 17 and younger admitted.

“The Ballad of Lefty Brown” — A cowboy in Montana sets out to bring the killers of his friend, a U.S. senator, to justice. With Bill Pullman, Kathy Baker, Jim Caviezel, Peter Fonda. Written and directed by Jared Moshe.

“Birdboy: The Forgotten Children” — Teenagers stranded on an island in a post-apocalyptic world plot their escape in this animated fantasy. Written and directed by Alberto Vazquez & Pedro Rivera; based on a graphic novel by Vazquez.

“Desolation” — Horror/thriller. Directed by Sam Patton.

“Ethel & Ernest” — Animated British drama. Voices of Jim Broadbent, Brenda Blethyn. Written and directed by Roger Mainwood, based on graphic novel by Raymond Briggs.

“Ferdinand” — Animated tale about a large, gentle bull determined to return to his family after being captured. Voices of John Cena, Kate McKinnon, Gina Rodriguez. Inspired by a book by Munro Leaf and Robert Lawson. Directed by Carlos Saldanha.

“The Leisure Seeker” — An aging couple escape the smothering effects of doctors and children with a road trip from Boston to Key West. With Donald Sutherland, Helen Mirren, Kirsty Mitchell. Written by Stephen Amidon, Francesca Archibugi, Paolo Virzi and Francesco Piccolo, based on the novel by Michael Zadoorian. Directed by Virzi. Qualifying run. Opens Jan. 19.

“Permanent” — In 1982, a couple and their preteen daughter have a particularly hairy time when they move to a town in the South. With Patricia Arquette, Rainn Wilson, Kira McLean. Written and directed by Colette Burson.

“Quest” — Documentary on a North Philadelphia family whose home music studio becomes a creative hub for the community. Directed by Jonathan Olshefski.

“Shakespeare Wallah” — This 1965 drama about a British theater troupe in India and a pair of star-crossed lovers was a breakthrough for the filmmaking team of producer Ismael Merchant, director James Ivory and writer Ruth Prawer Jhabvala. With Shashi Kapoor, Felicity Kendal, Geoffrey Kendal.

“The Soul of Success: The Jack Canfield Story” — Documentary on the “Chicken Soup for the Soul” author. Directed by Nick Nanton.

“Spent” — Dark comedy. Written and directed by Lisa Mikatarian.

“Star Wars: The Last Jedi” — Rey continues her search for the truth behind the Force in Episode VIII. With Daisy Ridley, Adam Driver, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher. Written and directed by Rian Johnson; based on characters created by George Lucas.

“The Thousand Faces of Dunjia” — Action-fantasy. Written and produced by Tsui Hark. Directed by Woo-Ping Yuen.

“Wormwood” — One man’s six-decade search to solve the mystery of his father’s death leads him into dark corners of American history. With Peter Sarsgaard, Molly Parker. Written by Steven Hathaway & Molly Rokosz. Theatrical version of director Errol Morris’ four-hour hybrid documentary series.

“Youth” — Members of a military performing arts group deal with a family scandal, unrequited love and other coming-of-age drama during China’s Cultural Revolution. With Huang Xuan, Miao Miao, Zhong Chuxi. Written by Geling Yan. Directed by Feng Xiaogang.

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CRITICS’ CHOICES

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“Blade Runner 2049” — You can quibble with aspects of it, but as shaped by Denis Villeneuve and his masterful creative team, this high-end sequel puts you firmly and unassailably in another world of its own devising, and that is no small thing. (K.Tu.) R.

“Call Me By Your Name” — Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer give superb performances as two young men falling in love in the northern Italian countryside in this rapturously beautiful collaboration between director Luca Guadagnino and screenwriter James Ivory. (J.C.) R.

“The Florida Project” — Absorbing us in the day-to-day rhythms of life at a dumpy Florida motel complex, home to a wildly spirited 6-year-old girl named Moonee (the startling Brooklynn Prince), Sean Baker (“Tangerine”) goes to a place few of us know and emerges with a masterpiece of empathy and imagination. (J.C.) R.

“Lady Bird” — As warm as it is smart, and it is very smart, this portrait of a high school senior year marks actor-screenwriter Greta Gerwig’s superb debut as a solo director and yet another astonishing performance by star Saoirse Ronan. (K.Tu.) R.

“Mudbound” — Carey Mulligan, Jason Mitchell, Mary J. Blige and Rob Morgan are part of a superb ensemble in writer-director Dee Rees’ sweeping epic of World War II-era Mississippi, the rare film that grants its white and black characters the same moral and dramatic weight. (J.C.) R.

“1945” — A lean, unadorned parable about guilt and the nature and consequences of evil. A quietly furious Hungarian film that puts a particular time and place under a microscope, revealing hidden fault lines and differences that have been ineffectively papered over. (K.Tu.) NR.

“The Square” — A Stockholm museum curator (Claes Bang) undergoes a crisis of conscience in Swedish writer-director Ruben Ostlund’s sprawling, virtuoso satire of the modern art world, which won the Palme d’Or at the 2017 Cannes Film Festival. (J.C.) R.

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